


South Sea Christmas

by Sharpiefan



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is still Christmas... even on the far side of the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	South Sea Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for perfect-duet's 2009 Advent Calendar. Canon characters do not belong to me, but I have named a couple of Marines (Sharpie's prerogative!). I make no profit from this, I'm just here for the fun.

There was a sound of shuffling feet, lowered voices, a muffled curse or two, quickly subdued after a meaningful cough or two. Stephen looked across at Jack. “Aren't you worried at all, Jack?”  
  
“It is Christmas, Stephen. You don't need to worry.”  
  
There was a muffled thump and another muttered curse. Stephen indicated the cabin door. “The fact it is Christmas does not explain those sounds, Jack.”  
  
Jack seemed disinclined to open the cabin door and confront whatever was going on outside on the gundeck. Stephen visibly forced himself to relax. He had been easily spooked after Mahon, much to his own disgust.  
  
There was a knock at the door and Stephen jumped, catching himself with an embarrassed half-shrug which Jack pretended not to notice. “Enter!”  
  
The door was pushed open by a grinning Marine sentry. “What's the meaning of this, Briggs?” The Marine stood aside far enough that Stephen could see a group of seamen and Marines, all looking pink and self-conscious. Oxley, the sixteen-year-old Marine drummer was standing to one side with Appleby next to him, holding his fife. Hollar, the bosun, was standing behind them and gave Appleby a poke in the back. The older lad started, glanced across to Oxley and raised his fife, and the younger lad gave a hesitant tap on his drum.  
  
The group of assorted crewmen drew in a collective breath. _”We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year,”_ they sang, mostly (though not completely) in tune.  
  
Jack looked at Stephen as the men reached the chorus, and raised his eyebrow.  
  
 _“Good tidings we bring, for you and your kin, we wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”_  
  
“Thank you, lads,” Jack said, when they finally drew to close and paused, expectantly. Hollar pushed his way to the front.  
  
“With respec', sir, we'd like to invite you, and the Doctor, to a... a... party, on the fo'c'sle at one bell o' the First Dog. We... we axed the gunroom and the young gentlemen, an' all, sir.”  
  
Jack turned to Stephen. “We are invited to a party, Stephen.”  
  
“A party, is it? It would be churlish to refuse, sure, with such a polite invitation.”  
  
“Even in best rig?”  
  
Stephen gave a groan. Ever since Mahon, both Killick and Bonden had been doing their best to smother him with their concern and care, and even in his best health, he disliked wearing his best clothes.  
  
The sailors and Marines outside looked pleased at the suggestion, despite the fact that their own best clothes would make only a poor showing next to the officers' own uniforms.  
  
“The Doctor and I would be honoured to attend,” Jack said, and the men and boys outside were suddenly grinning in delight as Hollar shepherded them to disperse.  
  
“Briggs,” Jack said and the Marine sentry reappeared. “Sir?”  
  
“Did you know about this?”  
  
“We-ell, sir, in a manner o' speakin', yes.”  
  
Jack nodded. “Carry on, Private.”  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  
“Hold still, Doctor, I ain't goin' to strangle you,” Killick said, trying to tie Stephen's cravat for him.  
  
“I am perfectly capable of tying my own neckerchief, you disagreeable, cantankerous excuse for a valet!”  
  
“You'll end up lookin' a right disgrace if I let you, sir,” Killick said, and finally got it fastened, before holding Stephen's coat up to help him into it, and then picked up a clothesbrush.  
  
“You are not wielding that thing anywhere near me, Preserved Killick. This coat is perfectly dust-free,” Stephen said and plucked a hair from the collar.  
  
“That wombat's bin at it,” Killick said, managing to get in a couple of strokes before Stephen grabbed up his hat and fled.  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  
Benches and sea-chests had been brought up from the gundeck and arranged neatly on the fo'c'sle under the warm tropical sun. Thankfully, the seas weren't running anything more than a fairly comfortable swell, and the master didn't think there was anything to suggest that a storm was likely to spoil the festive, though unseasonable, atmosphere.  
  
Most of the seating was arranged on the leeward side of the deck, with that on the windward side reserved for the Captain and wardroom officers.  
  
The sailors had decided, though not in so many words, that they would wear their precious shore-going rig in honour of this special occasion. Feet unaccustomed to shoes, jackets with their seams carefully sewn with bright ribbon, broad-brimmed sennit hats, silk neckerchiefs knotted around suntanned necks, clean chequered shirts. The Marines had pipeclayed their bayonet belts, deciding that as the sailors were wearing their shore-going rig, they wouldn't be shown up, and would wear walking-out dress, with polished crossbelt plates, buckles and brass scabbard fittings, pipeclayed crossbelts and polished shoes and bayonet scabbards.  
  
The Captain arrived promptly as the Marine sentry self-consciously struck the bell. Mister Pullings was there, and Mister Mowett, who would slip aft partway through and relieve the Master so he could join in the festivities.  
  
The 'party' started with Father Christmas announcing the arrival of Christmas Day, leading to a mummer's play performed by members of the starboard watch. That was almost the last thing that actually tied in with Christmas, because the rest of the evening was dedicated to dancing hornpipes and singing shanties. The Surprises were gratified that the Captain led the officers in joining in with the singing, and the sun slowly sank and the first tropical stars came out as the whole off-duty crew of _Surprise_ joined in singing Hark, the Herald Angels Sing, bringing to an end Christmas Day on the far side of the world.


End file.
